


Lies and Other Apologies

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-06
Updated: 2010-11-06
Packaged: 2017-10-21 02:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the tender moment after the punch, they gazed at each other in complete understanding. Written for Round One, Challenge Seven of Last Author Standing: Jossverse</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lies and Other Apologies

In the tender moment after the punch, they gazed at each other in complete understanding. Violence was a language they both spoke more fluently than English. Making small talk, hands cupped around beer bottle and eyes glued to the floor, they were fish out of water. But in this, pain offered and returned, they breathed easily.

“What have they been teaching you, mate?” Spike unraveled off the floor, one hand cupping his bruising cheek.

“This and that.” Xander rolled back on his heels. “You here to kill me?”

“Came to bring the Bit back, didn’t I?”

“Did the Buffster work out a custody agreement or something?” His lip quirked in agitation.

“Something.” Spike clamored to his feet.

“He’s taking me to see colleges!” Dawn’s head peered around the apartment door. “Xander did you punch him? What the hell!”

“He startled me while I was taking out the trash.” Xander shuffled his feet under her stern gaze.

“Very startling when a bloke walks up and says hello.” Spike agreed solemnly.

“Shut up, Spike.” Dawn reprimanded. “You came up on his blind side again, didn’t you?”

“Not on pur-”

“Yeah, yeah. You forgot. Why don’t you both just apologize while I get my bag? Ok?” She looked expectantly at them until they made vague agreement sounds. “Great!”

“Might as well come on in.” Xander mumbled holding open the door.

The apartment was light and made spacious by a dearth of furniture. Unpacked boxes and piles of paperwork lent the place a sense of unease as though the owner might disappear at any moment, on to the next project.

“So you a Watcher now?” Spike asked, sliding into a rickety kitchen chair.

“Not really.” Xander leaned against the wall. “More freelance, guy who knows a lot but is still expandable, no job title to put on the resume. You?”

“Same.”

“Maybe we should come up with a job title then. Part-time Scooby.”

“M’not one though am I?” Spike grinned mirthlessly.

“You could be if you wanted too.” Xander said doubtfully.

“You know what no one ever bloody remembers?” Leaning back, ignoring the chair’s squeak of protest, he stared up at the ceiling. “I’m two hundred years old. Hell, I forget sometimes. Worse than Rupert pretending at fitting in.”

“If it helps, I’d say you have the maturity of a six year old.”

“Hilarious.” He bit out.

“You think we’re children.” Xander pushed off the wall and settled in the other chair.

“Sometimes.” There was a fissure in the ceiling, minute, but growing. “Powerful children though. Shouldn’t be let to play with all the toys.”

“Willow?”

“All of you.”

“I’m just a boy with a caulking gun.”

“You’re a boy with the ear of the most powerful witch in a millennium and the oldest surviving slayer in history.” He shook his head. “And you’re a boy who has a finger in every magical pie I’ve been contracted to deal with since Sunnyhell disintegrated.”

“You make it sound impressive.” Xander gave him a half-cocked grin.

“You’re a boy that killed the heir to the Tamrinian throne.” He said tightly.

“Ah.” Xander drew in a deep breath. “So you really are here to kill me.”

“They offered me the job.” Spike allowed. “I didn’t take it.”

“You’re their pet assassin. They have you on a tight chain.”

“A chain can be cut and this one has.” He patted his pockets, remembering belatedly that he’d left his cigarettes in Brazil. “The man they hired in my place won’t last a week.”

“Why didn’t you take the job?” Xander leaned across the table, his unpatched eye glittering.

“Still gotta soul, don’t I? People with souls don’t go ‘round killing allies.” He stared right back. “Course if I knew you were going to punch me-”

“Did you two patch things up?” Dawn flounced back into the room. “I’m ready to head out.”

“Yeah.” Xander pulled back slowly, not breaking eye contact with Spike. “Yeah, we’re good. Right, Spike?”

“Right.” He got up to take Dawn’s bag. “Ready to go, Bit?”

“Ready.” She threw her arms around Xander and kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you in January. Call me, ok?”

“Ok.” He patted her back gently. “Don’t choose a college because of the boys.”

“Ugh, I won’t. I think I’m going to try girls for a while.” She gave him a bright grin. “Bye!”

“Uh...bye Dawnie.”

Just as Spike was about to head out, following an exuberant Dawn, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Spike.”

“What for?” He shrugged off the touch. “Figure we’ve dealt each other enough blows. It’s all one now.”

“Sorry that I thought you’d take the contract. You’ve really changed.”

“Have I?” Spike turned and brushed a kiss over Xander’s missing eye. “Goodbye, Xander.”

He disappeared down the hall and a moment later, the sound of a motorcycle engine rumbled to life. Xander went back inside his cluttered apartment, one hand clenched to his chest. The hilt of the knife was gilded gold and silver, familiar words in a demonic language, he translated in lieu of watching his blood drip to the floor. It was a traditional assassin's plea:

“For this death that I inflict, I repent. For this pain, I feel sorrow. May a thousand thousand men bow at your feet when you reach the afterlife.”

The blade had been thrust upwards, between his ribs with gentle precision. Xander wrapped his hand around the hilt and it was like taking the hand of a new lover, leading him down the hall to a bedroom filled with light.


End file.
